Chapter 94
Chapter 94
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 94
Chapter Title: Masked Ball (10)
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***
Pfft-shaaa!
KABOOM!
“Next!”
“Hey, let me take one shot, come on? I’ll do it right this time!”
“Quit yapping! Next! Hand over the next round!”
His desperate plea fell on deaf ears as Hyde shot Bex a sour look and slotted an RPG warhead from the crate into the launcher.
“Cheapskate... I didn’t come all this way to mess with this crap... A guy’s only got so many days in his life...”
Pfft-shaaa!
“See? You loved it! Everything you fired missed! That’s why the thing got this close! If we’d just kept our distance from the start, we wouldn’t be this desperate—”
[GRRRRRAAAAGH—!]
KABOOM!
[Gurk!]
“Next!”
The RPG round Bex fired exploded right in the monster’s throat, cutting off its roar mid-scream. Firing an RPG from the open rear door of a truck barreling down the road—even with a massive target—was no easy feat. Only someone with Bex’s freakish sense of balance could pull it off.
Honk! Honk!
The horn blared alongside Ian’s gruff shout into the ears of the two frantically loading warheads.
“Hyde! Fork ahead!”
“Uh... left! Take the left alley and hit the uphill!”
Screeech—!
“Gah! Jo! Drive easier!”
“Hyde waits till we’re at the corner to tell me— what do you want me to do?!”
Crash!
The truck whipped around sharply, spilling crates and guns everywhere in the cargo bed. Bex and Hyde, strapped in with harnesses, struggled amid the avalanche of cargo to reload the RPG-7.
“Argh! That’s a 4.5kg metal hunk!”
“Hey! Parasite! Gimme the next round, quick!”
“The crate tipped! This and what’s in my pockets are the last ones! To get more, I gotta unstrap!”
“What? So RPG warheads are rolling around the cargo bed? Unstrap now and grab ‘em! How many targets left?!”
“Uh...”
Bruised black-and-blue all over, Hyde unfastened the line pinning him to the cargo wall and desperately rummaged through his memory.
A method devised to handle the Old Picture, which barely flinched even after eating countless standard RPGs.
Separate from the Professor’s quick judgment, it was possible thanks to Hyde’s absurd memory recall—he could regurgitate anything he’d seen once, thanks to observing the subconscious.
“Two spots! One’s right after this alley! Bex, grab me!”
“Damn it! What a reckless, unstable plan! Hapbun, when he wakes up, I’m gonna beat his ass!!”
“H-He was in a rush! Shellhead was out of it too, ha, hahaha...”
‘Uh... anyway, it’s a plan from the Professor’s brain, so it’s gotta be right? I couldn’t have dreamed up something like this when I was stuck inside!’
Thinking that, Hyde seized the moment the truck slowed for the corner and thrust his body out.
“Urgh!”
One hand gripping his own line fixed to the truck, the other holding Hyde’s harness line, Bex braced.
Hyde dangled from it like a monkey, snatching a crate scattered inside an Executioner outpost he’d memorized beforehand with both hands clamped on his crowbar.
His arm screamed from snagging the heavy crate at truck speed, and some contents spilled from the awkward pull...
“Got it!”
“How many rounds?!”
“One, two, three... seven!”
He’d salvaged it, at least.
The solution Hyde devised after much deliberation to supplement their firepower shortage.
“Seven mortar rounds added! Total forty-two!”
It was raiding the Executioners’ mortar positions—where they’d flung shells like it was a show—and scooping up the leftovers. Hyde had pulled every position the Professor had glimpsed while charging down the avenue with that shoe lump, collecting ammo from the abandoned spots after the Executioners died or fled.
Honk! Honk!
“Hey! How’d it go?!”
“Got ‘em! Just one more stop!”
“Damn it, firepower’s covered! But how the hell do we use all those mortar rounds? Blow ‘em up on the ground and you’ll just shred its body a bit! No fatal damage!”
“I know! I’ve got it figured! Straight ahead for now! Till past that hill!”
“Shit... Professor’s got something planned! Never lost following that guy!”
Vroooom!
The Raptor-made armed truck’s engine roared savagely as it charged.
“Hyde! Round! Hurry!”
“This is the last!”
“What? Where’s the rest?!”
“Must’ve rolled out during the turn!”
“Grrr! Nothing goes right!”
“No! Everything’s going perfectly! All of it!!!”
Vrooom!
Screeeeech!
With Hyde’s ecstatic shout, the truck crested the hill like it was flying, tires screeching to a halt atop it.
“Hyde! Where now?!”
“Good work, Metal Joe! No need to run anymore!”
“Huh?”
“This is a dead end!”
Atop a steep hill overlooking the model garden. A redevelopment zone built in the old style—what old-timers would call a “slum hill.” Hyde had parked right in front of a concrete-and-metal-railing viewpoint jutting from the hilltop.
“When Shellhead was in kindergarten, his rabbit-class teacher said it: real talk happens...”
[GRAA, AH, KAHAA, AHHH, KAAAAH!]
The Old Picture, throat shredded so badly it couldn’t even scream properly, crawling up the hill on two arms.
“Face-to-face!”
Its massive head was now at eye level with them.
“Hey, Metal Joe! Don’t you love explosions?”
“Hm?”
Ian suddenly felt a bad premonition. Sure, same height now, but mortar rounds weren’t for tossing, and its head was about twenty meters from the viewpoint. No way to lob their hard-earned explosives at it.
Rattle-rattle-rattle—
Except for one thing.
“Floor it.”
“Hey, wait. Hyde, you don’t mean...”
Weird. Feels like I’ve seen this scene before...
“Floor it like your life depends on it!”
Watching Hyde hop out with a loaded RPG-7, Ian recalled long ago, deep underground, flooring the Hummer to flee a monster.
The deep underground bunker and this high hill overlooking the model garden.
Accelerator floored to flee the Abomination, accelerator to floor to ram the Old Picture.
He’d gotten a new ride down there, but here he’d hurl the truck off a cliff with explosives.
An ironic symmetry so perfect it felt deliberate.
All planned by the Professor’s other personality—same face, same body, utterly different contents.
“Wahahahaha! This is it! This thrill! This rush! Ahhh, the world is so, so beautiful!”
Hyde.
“Fuck. Stopped believing in fate ages ago...”
Gripping the wheel white-knuckled, Ian watched the ragged monster crawling up and Hyde grinning like a maniac with the RPG.
***
Drip. Drip. Drip—
The steady sound of falling water droplets. Pitch-black, dense darkness everywhere. Me, left alone in it.
“Here again, huh.”
The Professor sat up in the now-familiar mental space and scanned around.
The place he was inevitably dragged to whenever he blacked out. The difference now: no Hyde floating before him, giggling like always.
“...No Hyde means he’s taken my spot outside.”
Half-successful. The best-case he’d assumed before the Old Picture’s psychic wave hit was Hyde tanking it like the curse in the game, leaving the Professor unscathed.
‘Both affect consciousness, so maybe the spare one... could halve the effect. Instead, I took the full blast, and Hyde strolled out fine.’
“Lucky not to die, at least... Hold on. My consciousness is back? Situation clear. Thinking straight. Memories intact. Fully conscious, but still not back in my body... Stuck here?”
Damn, correction needed. Not half-success—maybe a quarter. No clue how much time passed outside, but he’d thought regaining consciousness would return body control. Yet Hyde was still out there.
‘Wait. This is bad. Real bad?’
Not death, so not worst-case, but close.
Even fully conscious, if Hyde’s parked at main control... he might keep control forever.
“Guy begged daily to ‘go out! Just one day! One hour!’ Won’t hand it back easy. Shit... this is fucked.”
The Professor shot to his feet. No info, only worst-case assumptions. Better to act than wait for Hyde to return control. If stolen, steal it back.
He stretched his stiff—seeming—body, then scanned the mental space for anything useful.
Dense darkness within arm’s reach. Useless.
Regular dripping water somewhere. Could serve as clock or calendar if imprisoned long-term. Horrid. Useless now.
His body. Ghostly pale except the unusually bright... left hand.
“Inside-out, so now I control this hand instead?”
Good. Useful.
The Professor focused on sensing the left hand. Foreign feel. Nothing there, yet gripping something. Warm, smooth metal like body-heated, and a cooler metal on his index finger. Familiar shape.
‘...Trigger? Hyde’s holding a gun?’
Makes sense. Guy sang all day about shooting after leaving the game. Addict for fun—saw a gun, grabbed it.
As hand synced, other senses shared hazily, like silhouettes through frosted glass: hearing, smell, sight.
‘So this is how Hyde saw the world.’
Decided. Once calm, lend Hyde the body for a day. Half-blind, half-not. Ten seconds would annoy anyone— he’d shared my senses like this his whole life.
No more distractions. Focus on sharpening opaque senses. Familiar voice yelling... another familiar—Bex. Bex screaming something.
“...Hurry...! This guy... crazy...!”
Clearer with focus, like eyes adjusting to dark. Sharing Hyde’s vision slowly...
‘...What?’
Old Picture’s massive head right ahead.
‘Escape plan failed? No, party looks too fine for that? ...One exception. Psychic wave’s AOE—can’t pinpoint one guy mad?’
In Hyde’s peripheral: Ian, bound tight with a thick cargo strap, thrashing. Face desperate, like witnessing apocalypse and trying to stop it.
“Nein! Nein!! Was zum Teufel machst du denn? Hoer dich auf! Ich bin sicher, dass es noch bessere Wege geben! Bitte! Lass mich frei!!!!!”
“...No clue what he’s saying, but sorry, Jo! Professor’s plan!”
“Bex! Monster’s throat’s almost regenerated! Stall and it’s zero-range shotgun blast! Leave the idiot—floor it!”
“Wenn der Schaden zu groß ist, ist es bedeutungslos, den Kampf zu siegen! I can’t handle that—the truck’s my wasteland partner, family through life and death! Screw fate! Not my truck, you bastards!! Bex! You think I taught you driving for this?!”
‘Not that I missed it—it’s gibberish. Ian’s like Bex. Excited, out comes alien tongue or German. Same incomprehensibility.’
Vrooom! Vroooom!
Engine snarling in place, ready to bolt. Situation unclear, but Hyde ignored or missed his memories. Made his own plan, reached endgame.
Screeeeech—!
Tires scraping, truck lunged forward powerfully.
“Parasite! Hyde! Miss this, we’re all dead!”
“No worries! Failure’s mother of success! No mom, but two misses nailed the feel!”
VROOOOM—!
Bump—crash!
Full throttle almost to viewpoint edge, Bex bails quick through door.
Crunch!
Black armed truck smashes railing at horrific speed, hurtles toward Old Picture’s face,
“Here we go, Metal Joe! Say goodbye to your old friend!!”
“Thought you were my true friend, Hyde!”
“Lose one to gain one! Toad gives old house for new nest, man sends old friend for...”
Pfft-shaaa!
“...new one!”
Ian, Caesar-stabbed-by-Brutus face. Hyde winks at him, pulls trigger—RPG warhead, oblivious to drama, flies toward truck embedded in Old Picture’s forehead.
Sucked right into cargo bed. Then—
KABOOOOOOMMMMM—!!!!!
Massive explosion.
[Hey Hyde. What... did you do?]
“Huh? Oh! Shellhead! Good nap? Bit noisy alarm, huh?]
Reading Hyde’s memory—crouched below viewpoint dodging blast and debris—the Professor clutched his forehead.
‘Damn! Reckless, unstable plan! Hapbun, gonna beat ass when awake!!’
‘Sorry, Jo! Hapbun’s plan!’
“Nein Mein LKW!! NeinNNNNNN!!!”
...Scary. Guy crossed 45 zones solo for a bunker over one car.
[...Hold the body till we deal with that.]
‘Heehee! Dizzy~ Consciousness fading~’
Flash!
Hyde’s words, ray of light pierced, space brightening. Meaning clear.
[Caused this mess and fleeing ‘inside’?]
‘Hey, good results matter?’
Senses and sight clarifying like fog lifting. Full body control back, Professor saw Ian strapped tight, foaming and ranting German, and Old Picture crumbling, head neatly blown off.
Drip-drop, drip-drop!
Headless Old Picture—Inspection Exosuit squad would’ve handled if left.
“WAAAAH! WAAAAAHHH!!!”
Ian wailing like best friend blew up before eyes.
Good result. Close to resolving incident, but this...
.
.
.
.
.
‘No matter what, I’ll get you a new body, Hyde.’
[Aw, touched? I did good!]
No. Can’t beat you ‘cause we share a body.
Seeing situation he’d left to flow naturally now knee-deep involved, Professor felt sky spin.
***